


As One that Returns from the Dead

by noldortrash



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Dissociation, Elves dealing with trauma, Gen, PTSD, somewhat based off of dissociative identity disorder but not completely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8612422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noldortrash/pseuds/noldortrash
Summary: Elrohir struggles to recover after being revived from a near-death experience at the hands of orcs. As his physical injuries heal, his mental state seems to deteriorate. Elladan's desperation grows - this cannot be a repeat of what happened with their mother.It takes everyone a while to realize that this is because Elrohir's spirit is no longer along in his body. Someone else - a certain Feanorian - was revived with him.And Maedhros' attempts to help his 'host' are not always ideal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is based off a ridiculous idea I had one morning where I wanted to combine my two faves. (You can see the full idea here: http://noldor-trash.tumblr.com/post/153107541122 but spoiler alert.) Takes place a couple centuries after Celebrian sails, but before Aragorn enters the picture.
> 
> Warning for this chapter: nongraphic description of battle and death
> 
> Also note that I may be updating the summary as I write.

The small stone chamber was rank with the scent of sweat and blood, and the din of nearby battle echoed against the stone. Elladan strained against the ropes that tethered his wrists to the wall above his head. Blood trickled down his arms.

“In here!” Elladan shouted.

A strangled screech rang out from just beyond the entryway, followed by a thud. An orc head rolled into the cave.  A tall blond elf strode into the room after it. His eyes were lit with a fierce rage which quickly faded to concern. “Elladan!”

“Glorfindel,” Elladan gasped. The other elf rushed towards him, withdrawing a short knife and severing the ropes around Elladan’s wrists. Elladan staggered forward.

Glorfindel caught him before he could fall. “Are you alright? Where is–”

“I’ll live.” Elladan pulled himself back to his feet and grabbed the knife out of Glorfindel’s hands. “We have to find Elrohir.”

Despite the burning in his ribs and the throbbing pain from repeated beatings, Elladan sprinted down the corridor past the fighting. The orcs had dragged him down this hallway many times. But not nearly as many times as they had taken Elrohir.

He skidded around a corner just in time to see an orc toss Elrohir to the side, away from the trough of water he stood next to.

Elrohir hit the ground and didn’t move. Water pooled around his head and shoulders.

Elladan lunged at the orc, sinking Glorfindel’s knife deep into its throat. Blood bubbled up from the wound. Before the orc could fall, Elladan was already moving towards his brother.

“Elrohir!”

Elrohir did not respond.

Elladan dropped to his knees, pulling his twin into his arms. Elrohir’s eyes were open and unfocused. Water trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Elladan pressed two fingers to his brother’s wrist, praying for a pulse.

There was none.

\---

Elrohir drifted.

Stars flecked the vast black expanse, clear and bright. The memory of being forced underwater again and again faded away, replaced by a warm comfort.

“ _My child_ …” a voice reverberated through the emptiness as the stars drew near.

The light began to take shape, a vast hall–

Something cracked, a sudden blooming of pain through his body– his _body_ –

The light began to whirl and Elrohir reached for something, _anything_ , as the emptiness lurched and retracted, and he opened his eyes–

\---

Elladan rocked back on his heels as Elrohir convulsed and retched up water. Elladan’s hands shook from the effort of reviving his brother, from the sensation of his own twin’s ribs cracking underneath his palms.

Glorfindel gently raised Elrohir into a sitting position. “Breathe, little one.”

Elrohir continued to cough, his face contorted in agony. Finally he ceased and lay limp in Glorfindel’s arms.

His gaze roamed the cave, finally settling on Elladan. There was no hint of recognition in his eyes.

“Elrohir?” Elladan reached for his brother’s right hand.

At the touch, Elrohir shuddered. His eyes flickered shut for a moment.

“El'dan?” He slurred.

Both Glorfindel and Elladan sighed with relief.

\---

Glorfindel carried Elrohir out of the winding series of caves and tunnels while Elladan limped along behind them, supported by another elf. As the adrenaline wore off, Elladan was reminded of the injuries he himself had sustained in the past week.

Elrond met them at the cavernous entryway, having been leading the battle outside. He quickly looked over Elladan and pulled him into an embrace.

“I am fine, Father. Elrohir– they drowned him.”

Glorfindel lay Elrohir down as Elrond examined him. Elladan eased himself down to the ground as well, shivering in the night air. Someone passed him their cloak.

Despite all the horrors that he and Elrohir had been subjected to in the past week, the one thing Elladan couldn’t shake was the blank, unrecognizing look in Elrohir’s eyes after being revived.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter turned out 0% like I intended it to whoops (thanks Glorfindel especially for going off-script)
> 
> Also I would just like to say that none of the characters’ views on trauma or the ways in which they deal with trauma are necessarily beneficial. This story explores how people may deal with trauma in different ways, particularly unhealthy ways, so please do not take any of what the characters say or do as a good perspective. Especially characters who view post-trauma struggles as a matter of personal strength or weakness - that’s not true. Trauma can be debilitating for ANYONE, and there is absolutely no shame or weakness in seeking help, despite what any of these characters may say or do. 
> 
> and I mean in general you should not follow Maedhros' example in anything

Maedhros opened his eyes.

The physical sensations assailed him all at once – the arched ceiling above him, distant voices, the fragrant smell of herbs. The sheets around him were soft and warm to the touch.

It had been _so long_ since he had felt any of this.

The other one was still asleep in the back of his mind, alive but quiet.

Maedhros could only assume that something had gone horrifically and unintentionally wrong. With his unending list of transgressions, he should never have been reborn.

And not into someone else’s body.

All the knowledge and memory of the other elf crowded in on him. Maedhros took a deep breath, suppressing all the foreign information for the moment. He pushed himself upright, cataloguing his body and its injuries. The drowning he had already known – he’d felt the little one’s terror and memories. Broken ribs, bruises over every inch of his body, countless lacerations across his back and torso.

The pain was nothing compared to Thangorodrim, and a mere afterthought compared to the joy of feeling _whole_ again.

He gazed with delight at his right hand. All the phantom pain he’d fought with over the years – never again.

Maedhros slid his feet out from under the sheets. One ankle was bandaged. He reached for a nearby crutch.

A mirror was propped up on a desk across the room, reflecting shards of light back up to the ceiling. Maedhros limped over slowly. Even the feeling of cold stone beneath his feet was a marvel. He grasped the mirror.

His jaw dropped when the face that stared back at him was identical to that of the elf he’d first seen, back in the cave at his reawakening.

So they were twins. His new body had a double.

And so alike Elrond and Elros—

The mirror slipped from his hand, shattering on the unforgiving stone floor.

The door creaked open. “Wh—Elrohir!” the other twin rushed over, eyes wide. “What are you doing?” he demanded in Sindarin.

Maedhros didn’t respond. Despite the knowledge of this body’s native _fëa_ , Maedhros was unfamiliar with the accents and emphasis of this dialect.

The twin was followed by that blonde elf from Gondolin. His golden hair all but shone in the sunlight.

Hadn’t he died?

“Truly I’m glad you’re awake, but you’ve got glass everywhere,” the twin murmured. He swept the shards of mirror away with his boot. Looping an arm around Maedhros’ shoulder, he gripped his forearm and aided him back to the bed.

The Gondolin elf raised an eyebrow. “It is good to have you back with us, Elrohir. I’ll go find your father.”

The twin – Elladan, this body’s memory supplied – continued speaking. “Are you not in pain? How did you even get across the room?”

Again, Maedhros did not speak.

He couldn’t help but notice the twin’s injuries as well. The other elf’s face was darkened with bruises, and bandages peeked out from under the collar of his tunic. Maedhros freed himself from Elladan’s needless aid, limping the rest of the way on his own.

Elladan stared at him. “Elrohir?”

Maedhros lay back down on the cot just as the Gondolin elf – Glorfindel, that was his name – returned.

Followed by none other than Elrond.

Maedhros retreated to the darkest corners of the other’s mind.

The other elf did not awaken, and his body relaxed back into the mattress.

If this was Elrond’s son, Maedhros would protect him in any way he could.

\---

Elladan remained standing next to the bed. He looked from the unconscious Elrohir up to his father.

Elrond checked Elrohir’s pulse. It was normal, given the circumstances.

“Is he—“

“Don’t worry, Elladan. It is likely just exhaustion.” Elrond did not admit how unsettled he himself had felt when Elrohir’s eyes rolled backwards. His son’s resources had been completely depleted. A need for rest was only natural.

Elladan looked no less concerned.

Elrond pulled a chair over. “Here. Sit down before you fall down.”

Elladan did so without argument, rubbing his hands over his face. “Thank you, Father.”

“I will leave some athelas for when he awakes again. Please, try to get some rest yourself. Elrohir was not the only one who was held captive.”

“And yet he was the only one who died.”

“Elladan—“

“Should someone clean up the glass?” Elladan questioned.

For a moment, Elrond debated whether or not to address Elladan’s clear avoidance of the topic he had been about to broach.

Elladan’s gaze slipped back to his brother.

“It will be taken care of,” Elrond capitulated.

\---

Hours later, the pain roused Elrohir from sleep. His ribs throbbed mercilessly.

Yet the sense of relief he felt upon seeing the familiar Imladris architecture was immense.  He swallowed thickly, his eyes watering.

“Elrohir?”

Elrohir glanced to his left. Elladan sat stiffly in a chair next to the bed. Despite the smile he bore, his face was hollow and bruised. Elrohir supposed he himself must look much the same. He reached for his twin, and Elladan clasped his hand tightly.

“We’re back,” Elladan whispered.

Elrohir nodded. A ray of late sunlight lanced into his eyes as he shifted. He pushed himself into a sitting position with a gasp of pain.

“Can you not _wait_ to get up?” Elladan quickly reached forward as his brother swayed.

Elrohir closed his eyes tightly, his head swimming. “I just want to see the sun again.”

Elladan sighed. He gently helped Elrohir stand, and the two shuffled over to the window seat a few metres away.

The pain was nauseating in its intensity. Elrohir gulped in quick, shallow breaths as he sat down, trembling.

“Here.” Elladan passed him a mug of tea. The tea had cooled long ago, but still bore the sweet aroma of athelas and wintergreen. The scent recalled memories of clear, cold mornings, and the pain faded. Elrohir sighed and eased back into the cushions.

“What happened?” he asked.

Elladan leaned forward, long hair falling over his shoulders. “You don’t remember?”

Elrohir shook his head.

“Fineithel finally managed to track us to the hills. Rescue came a few hours after the orcs took you from me again. Glorfindel freed me but by the time we made it to you, the orcs—they’d drowned you and tossed you aside like a discarded plaything.” He clenched his fist, his teeth bared. For a moment he paused, breathing shakily. “I revived you, but for a moment I had lost all hope.”

The memory of drowning came rushing back. The blood drained from Elrohir’s face. He remembered sucking in a lungful of water, struggling feebly against the grip that had held him down time and time again but that this time refused to relent even for a second. He remembered the moment he realized that it was no longer just torture, that it was the end—

Something stirred in the back of his mind, a siren’s call to flee from the memories.

And then Elladan grabbed hold of his hand. “But we are safe now. Father and Glorfindel brought us back home yesterday.” He pulled his brother into an embrace,

Elrohir buried his face in his twin’s shoulder. The steady, rhythmic beating of Elladan’s heart grounded him in the present.

Finally, Elrohir drew back. “And your injuries?”

“Minor. Nothing you didn’t already see during our capture.”

Elrohir lifted the back of Elladan’s shirt collar to examine the bandages underneath. Elladan swatted his hand away.

“Don’t worry about me. You are much worse off than I am.” He leaned back with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “In fact, you must be starving. Let me find you some food.”

“Yes, please.”

Elladan pushed himself slowly to his feet and left the room.

Elrohir leaned gingerly against the window. The sun was setting, and shades of red and orange bled into the sky beyond the trees. He could faintly hear the sound of singing from outside. It a joyful song that his father taught many who passed through his lands, a song of welcoming and returning.

The elf shivered.

He couldn’t even think how long they had been in captivity. Logically, Elrohir knew it couldn’t have been longer than a week or two, but in the cave there was no sun and no sense of time between brutal and unpredictable bearings.

He could not help but drift through the memories of captivity, trying to process them. This had not been the first time he and Elladan had been in the clutches of their enemy, but he had never been subject to repeated torture like this.

He had never died.

He could not quite remember what had happened after he had ceased struggling. Not much more than the fading of his terror, and then distant lights.

And then terror again.

The memory, faint as it was, felt wrong. Like a bitter aftertaste he couldn’t name.

The door slammed shut as Elladan returned to the room. Elrohir jumped, clutching the cushion for one heart-stopping moment.

“Calenduil sends his regards - and his soup. I don’t think we will be able to eat all of this” Elladan carried a tray loaded with bowls and fresh fruit. He fought back a wince as he leaned down to set the tray on the window seat.

Elrohir reached up to help him. “You should have asked someone to get some more athelas,”

His twin shrugged. “Perhaps.”

The smell of hot, rich broth wafted throughout the room, and Elrohir’s stomach made itself known once again. Elladan laughed and passed him a spoon.

“Father will come by later. I asked Glorfindel to let him know you are awake again. Try not to pass out on him again.”

Elrohir looked at him quizzically. “Again? Wait—have you slept at all or have you just been running errands all day?”

“I have slept. A little.” Elladan picked up his own bowl of broth. “I have had to fend off a horde of well-wishers. Tathariel sent flowers, but I am unsure where they are now. Rilluin might have charmed her out of them.”

Elrohir stared at his brother. “You are completely avoiding the question.”

“I will be fine. There is no need for anyone to fuss over me - least of all you.” Elladan waved his spoon in his brother’s direction. “And you should eat that before it gets cold.”

Elrohir sighed, lifting the spoon with his left hand.

\---

Elrond stared blankly at the parchment in front of him. It was a report from Erestor condensing the findings of several patrols, but that was as far as Elrond had gotten.

Glorfindel rapped on the door. “Elrond?”

The elf lord looked up, quickly shuffling a couple papers to appear productive.

Glorfindel entered the room, his hands clasped behind his back. “Elrohir is awake again. Elladan’s with him now.”

Elrond nodded. “Good.” It offered him some measure of relief to know that his sons were together. He massaged his brow absentmindedly.

The silence in the room stretched out indeterminably long. Elrond returned to reading and rereading the first sentence of the report in front of him.

“You worry for them,” Glorfindel said suddenly.

“What parent wouldn’t? I am relieved beyond measure to have them returned to us but I know that this is not the end of their struggle.”

“They will recover. They always do.”

Elrond nodded silently. The crease in his brow remained.

“You know their resilience. They have been through many hardships and yet—“

“Do not lecture me on my own sons.” Elrond rose in one fluid movement. “I know of their exploits and all the times that they have returned injured and battle-weary. This is different—“ he cut himself off, running a hand through his hair.

Glorfindel leaned on the desk, locking eyes with Elrond.

The dark hair elf sighed frustratedly. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Glorfindel said nothing.

Finally, Elrond relented. “Something feels off. You must feel it as well – some hidden storm on the horizon. I fear for my sons.

“They are not their mother.”

“Dammit Glorfindel! Their _mother_ was just as strong and I was just as certain—“ Even now, centuries later, the memory had lost none of its biting potency.  Elrond’s jaw clenched. “But this is not _about_ Celebrían.”

Glorfindel grasped Elrond’s shoulder. “Come. Let us go see the twins again. I doubt Elrohir will pass out this time.”

Elrond followed him out of the room.

“Elladan and Elrohir have undergone trauma, but I do not believe that it was as debilitating as what Celebrían experienced.” Glorfindel hesitated for a moment. “I too sense uncertainty ahead. My vision in this matter is somewhat clouded. But I do not fear.”

“You never do.” Elrond sighed. “Forgive me for my harsh words. You are always a loyal friend.”

Glorfindel stopped at the door to the healing ward, silently nudging it open a crack. He beckoned Elrond to draw near.

Elladan and Elrohir still sat at the window, the evening sky a fading backdrop behind them. A half-empty tray of food lay in the space between them.

The two still looked fragile. Elrohir’s hands shook ever so slightly, and Elladan sat ramrod straight, his injured back an inch from the wall behind him.

But as Elrond watched, Elladan made an exaggerated gesture to illustrate whatever he’d said, nearly tipping over a bowl of soup, and Elrohir smiled faintly in response.

“We will see them through this,” Glorfindel whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aw isn’t that cute, a happy ending. never fear, my friends, there will be angst. much angst. this is only the beginning.
> 
> also: I’m going to later get more into the Celebrían backstory but I would like to stress that Celebrían is strong af and she did what she needed to do to recover and I am proud of her for that. Shit I have so many feelings on her, stay tuned for more gross sobbing over her and her whole family.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Not 100% sure where I'm going with this but I guess we'll find out. I'd love to hear what you think about it so far.


End file.
